


birthday blues

by writingdice



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Self-Hatred, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 04:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingdice/pseuds/writingdice
Summary: Celebrating his birthday on his own just never felt right to Stanley.





	birthday blues

Stanley remembers fondly his early birthdays.Ma Pines woke them up with banana pancakes on the morning. A smile on her face and a camera on her hand, taking hundreds of pictures by the minute while gushing about how much they were growing up.

“Before I know it you’ll be leaving home! ”, she would say with a bit of sadness in her voice.

Stan would send her a tooth-gaped smile and joke about how she would never truly get rid of them. Ma would chuckle and ruffle his hair.

“Happy birthday, my little free spirit”, she’d kiss his forehead and leave them to eat their special birthday breakfast together.

* * *

Stanley liked getting presents for Stanford. He liked the satisfaction of seeing his surprised and happy expressions. It felt better than when he got presents of his own. Seeing Stanford happy made him happy. It made working and looking for money to buy presents for him worth every second spent.

And so on his birthdays he focused more on his twin’s reactions than on what he got. Sure, he still liked getting presents, and he’d raise hell if he wasn’t given something.

But… Ford’s reactions made it more fun, made him more happy.

* * *

His first birthday homeless had been without a doubt: plain depressing.

Being on his own made it sad, but knowing that no one cared about him or what was going on with his life made it worse.

He knew he had to go out to find more ways to make money, but he couldn’t move. He stayed all day in the Stanley Mobile, staring at the ceiling of the car and remembering his past birthdays.

An emptiness grew and grew inside his chest; a yearning for his brother’s company and forgiveness, for a chance to see him again.

* * *

Stan walked infront of a cake shop and stopped. Looking back through the window with sorrow plain on his face.

He walked away with his hands on his pockets. 

Why bother?

* * *

Many years pass and with each year he starts to feel dread pit on his stomach weeks before his birthday. He doesn’t acknowledge it save to keep record of how closer to dead he is.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was his brother’s birthday too, he would have forgotten the date a long time ago.

* * *

It wasn’t a secret that their parents never expected twins. It wasn’t a secret who of the two of them his father thought of as the unwanted son.

Stan’s mind was hazy and his eyes were glazed over. The cheap hotel room smelled of smoke and sweat. The stuff Rick gave him was pretty good to numb most of the unwelcome thoughts, but not enough to keep them completely away. He was on his back on the floor, staring at the noisy fan, watching the shadows projected on the ceiling.

“H-happy birthday-y, bitch”, burped Rick from the other side of the room, a needle sticking out of his arm and a mocking smile on his face.

Stanley slowly blinked and held his middle finger at him. Rick laughed and laid down on the ground with him. Minutes later he was snoring and mumbling on his sleep, Stan followed soon.

* * *

He’s got it all planned. Every year on the night of his birthday, he’d get drunk off his ass and go to bed early.

Not as a celebration, of course not. He had nothing to celebrate about. His birth had been a mistake, an unwanted thing. Why would he ever celebrate that?

No, he just wanted the sweet fogginess that alcohol brought. The release of coherent thoughts and memories. The silence and peace that came with it.

* * *

One night he stood on a parking lot’s public phone booth. Holding the phone’s receiver on his right hand, listening to the dial tone with increasing anxiety and fear.

Even if Stanford answered the call, what would he even say?

“Hey, brother. I know it’s been quite some time since we last talked but I just wanted to say: happy birthday”

No, that sounded terrible.

“I’m sorry I ruined your life, happy birthday though”

That sounded even worse.

He hung up and walked out towards his car.

Why bother?

* * *

Their seventeen birthday had been something special. After dinner, late at night they had been cramped on Stanley’s bed, having gone from shy pecks to open mouthed kisses in a short time.

Prepping had gone on a hazy frenzy shared by both, desperate to be united in the most intimate way they knew. Between Ford’s deep thrusts, he had to cover Stan’s mouth with his hand to muffle his moans.

In the morning he felt a weight inside his chest, fully knowing that what they did was wrong. Burying the shame in denial, because Stan thought that this relationship-of-some-sorts made Ford happy.

And that was all that mattered to him.

* * *

What good was he to anybody anyway? He wondered as he drank another glass of whiskey.

What good had he ever brought to this world? None.

That was just like him, Stan thought bitterly as he filled his glass again. He was a screw up, someone who no one would ever miss if he were to unexpectedly die or disappear.

He continued drinking till midnight. Looking at the clock on the wall of the living room, he stood up and slowly made his way to the basement where the portal awaited for him.

“Happy birthday, Stanford”, he whispered as he gazed at the thing that had took his brother away.


End file.
